Comfort
by downton-and-daydreams
Summary: Robert and Cora on the night after Tom has left for America.


**A/N: So this is finally, finally finished! It was a prompt from Countess of Cobert concerning the night after Tom has left for America - which I loved but naturally took ages to write as my phone was out of action for about three weeks and I was stupid enough to have everything saved on there and nowhere else, but at last it's finished and I hope you all like it :)**

After five rounds of cards, with Edith somehow managing to win all five and no sign of Robert, Violet is rather regretting her insistence on the traditional separation. Cora had deemed it unnecessary, and Robert had regarded it as completely pointless, since Tom had left for America meaning he would be alone, but Violet had wanted to stick with tradition and is now faced with a slightly anxious Cora, who seems to be glancing at the door every thirty seconds.

'Cora, don't look so worried,' Violet sighs, shaking her head at her daughter-in-law. 'Robert's just drunk too much, I imagine. It's not as if the Crawleys are particularly known for resisting alcohol.'

'Well, all the same, I would like to go and see how he is,' Cora says firmly, surprising Violet who merely purses her lips and inclines her head slightly as Cora rises from the card table and leaves the room. Despite her relatively calm response to her mother-in-law's question, though, Cora suspects that Violet is right and Robert has just drunk too much, so when she reaches the library she is surprised to see him staring into the fire, the glass bottles of liquor on the small table seemingly untouched.

'Oh, darling, you could have had one drink, I wouldn't have minded,' she says, crossing the room to stand by him.

'I thought you said you didn't want me drinking too much – Clarkson's orders,' her husband sighs, barely lifting his gaze from the fire.

'Mmmmm, I don't know, the last time you drank too much we had the most terrific fun,' she teases, but when he does not smile she sits down next to him and picks up his hand from his lap, entwining their fingers together. At once he relaxes, pulling her closer to him so that her head is resting on his shoulder.

'I'm sorry,' he says finally, turning to face her. 'I know that it seems wrong – for me to be so upset by Tom leaving when I know that you were the one who was more welcoming – and maybe if I hadn't been so stupid and stubborn-'

'Darling, you weren't _that_ -'

'Yes, I was.'

'Well, maybe,' she concedes, tipping her head to the side as she considers his words, and at last he smiles. 'Didn't you call him a Bolshevik once?'

'Yes,' he admits ruefully.

'And one night he was "the Crawley's downfall,"'

'Well, I may have been slightly drunk at _that_ point.'

'And wasn't Miss Bunting was considered to be Lenin's mistress?'

At her teasing words and mock English accent he finally laughs, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head and briefly inhaling the intoxicating – and yet strangely comforting – scent of her rose and jasmine perfume. It is this familiar scent that causes him to shift slightly, so that she lifts her head from his shoulder and he can look into her eyes.

'I'm joking, you know,' she says softly. 'I don't think that at all. I think that you were wonderful to Tom and you did exactly the right thing by letting him and Sybbie stay at Downton. And I think that his decision to leave here is _not_ because he felt that you have treated him badly over Miss Bunting, or over Sybil, or over _anything._ He has chosen to leave because he feels that's what is best for him and Sybbie and we just have to accept that. Besides, he'll be back over here with Sybbie for weddings and vacations; I'm sure.'

'Thank you, Cora,' he says, so quietly she can barely hear him.

She merely shakes her head, smiling, and he leans forward to kiss her. It is not quite the gentlest kiss they have shared – his mind drifts to a rainy afternoon in Hyde Park, a shared umbrella, laughter, a ring – but this kiss is certainly perfect, and for the first time since Tom left for America Robert feels some semblance of normality, of _peace._ He looks at her, then, in the subdued glow of the fire, and the words he had been about to offer up – something about Mama coming in soon – seem to stick in his throat as he regards his wife of thirty-four years, who seems to look more beautiful now than ever has before. He knows that recent events – Rose's wedding, the discovery of Edith's child and perhaps Tom's departure more than anything – have made him more aware of his advancing age, and he suspects that Cora might have felt the same way, but if anything these events have made him realise how strong and wonderful she is. Even now she is smiling at him, her hand still in his and he squeezes her hand gratefully, struggling to find the words to express his gratitude and love for her.

'Cora,' he begins. 'Darling, I love you. So very much. And I – well, that fact is made clear to me when I see you like this, and you're so very beautiful and lovely that I feel as though I don't deserve-'

At this last word she presses her lips to his quickly, not wanting to hear what she knows he is about to say.

'Robert, I love you too,' she whispers softly. 'But you must not believe that you do not deserve me, of course you do.'

At her words he kisses her again, before pulling her onto his lap and trailing kisses down her neck.

'You know, I think I prefer having you here than Tom,' he murmurs into her hair.

'Well, I can assume you didn't do this with Tom,' she giggles, a unfamiliar sound due to the events of the past few months but a sound he is pleased to hear nonetheless.

'No, he was always more interested in drinking,' he replies and she laughs, pressing another quick kiss to his lips.

'Come on, let's go upstairs,' she smiles, extending a hand to him. 'I have a feeling Mama will be in here soon otherwise.'

'Mmmm, but she might pour herself a drink.'

And when he is rewarded with another giggle from her, he realises, certainly not for the first time, that he is the luckiest man in the world.


End file.
